


for an eye

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, M/M, Switching, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Prompt: switchFollowing an Omnic attack, McCree and Genji have their eyes unwillingly plucked out and swapped.  There are side effects.





	for an eye

McCree is the first to break the stunned silence. Genji nearly flinches at the brittle sound of McCree’s voice, gone low and dangerous. It’s a strange thing to hear, though Genji has seen McCree in foul moods before. This time, it’s different. Something about McCree’s tone rattles inside Genji like a dissonant chord ringing in his ears.

“You did _what?_ ”

Dr. O’Deorain appears vaguely annoyed by McCree, though it’s her own fault for keeping both him and Genji sedated until now. Despite having been bedridden for the last twenty-four hours, McCree is already up on his two feet, freshly dressed wounds agitated out of their wraps. Genji remains in his cot, sitting up and staring as the scene unfolds with a peculiar sense of disconnect—but that has been the usual for him for quite some time now.

Dr. O’Deorain says something he cannot catch, too distracted to pay close attention, but it only makes McCree storm up to her. McCree doesn’t lay a hand on the scientist, doesn’t _dare_ , but the threat is there even before he says the words.

“You’d best unfuck this up, Moira,” McCree says evenly, “or I swear to god I will return the favor a hundred times over.”

Dr. O’Deorain takes one deliberate step forward, unafraid, as if McCree is only throwing a childish tantrum.

“This is the thanks I get? Radicalized Omnics pluck out your eyeballs for their false god, and you complain about having the wrong set of eyes back? Better than being blind, don’t you think?” she says, waving towards her screens.

The screens show the aftermath of their last mission, gone disastrous when both McCree and Genji had been ambushed by Omnic Extremists. In all fairness, they had gotten attacked at separate times, though Genji had been this first to get his eyes gouged out in a rather gruesome ritual concerning _The Iris_. He supposes the crazed Omnics thought his eyes too human. McCree, on the other hand, had gotten his taken out from spite alone.

Genji looks to the side, catching his own reflection on one of the metal railings of the cot. His gaze is not his own. Clear, brown irises, pupils wide and black.

“These aren’t my eyes,” McCree says with razor sharp finality. “ _Fix us._ ”

“I thought you’d be happy with a better pair. Genji’s optical devices are the best of modern technology. They would help you with your aim.”

McCree steps back, incredulous and finally rendered speechless by Dr. O’Deorain’s apathy. When he glances at Genji, his eyes flash artificial red. It’s a familiar sight, almost like looking into the mirror again.

Genji stares back. Some part of him should be just as livid, but he can only muster a small curl of annoyance, and even then it’s only because the entire situation is _tedious_. After having been so thoroughly remade and crafted multiple times, one set of eyes is as good as any other. In the end, he cannot be made to care.

Genji looks down at his report, the tablet flashing in his lap. The words fuzz over if he stares too long, and he realizes McCree is slightly farsighted, or had been farsighted. He shuts his eyes— _McCree’s_ eyes—and opens them to focus at the people in front of him.

The world blurs once more, sight somehow unable to adjust as quick, but Genji has another thought; for all of Dr. O’Deorain’s posturing, she has rarely seen any action on the field, yet she had come out to rescue the both of them _and_ retrieved their eyes. Perhaps in her haste she had gotten them mixed up, or panicked, or simply wasn’t concerned. Or only wanted to see if she could get away with it.

The idea tumbles in Genji’s mind for a bit, vague empathy already crumbling to nothing. In any case, Genji does not think he has the energy to be anything but indifferent, even when he feels the anger rolling off McCree, the slight edge of fear and a bitterness in the back of his tongue.

“Why are you bothered?” Genji asks, voice echoing in his own head as if from far away. “The doctor is correct. You should be able to shoot better, with my eyes.”

McCree opens his mouth, wordless, then closes his mouth. Genji realizes McCree must have expected him to be an ally in this argument. The jagged disappointment beneath all the anger is surprisingly sharp before McCree’s expression shutters off. He stalks out of Dr. O’Deorain’s laboratory, no doubt heading to the nearest private communications terminal to contact Commander Reyes.

Genji leans back into his cot, ignoring Dr. O’Deorain as she mutters under her breath and returns to her work.

It makes no difference to him, no difference at all.

 

* * *

 

Later, they learn that Dr. O’Deorain has no safe method of reversing the procedure, not without the right equipment and additional expertise. It takes half the day for Commander Reyes to report that Dr. Ziegler will be coming to the base within the week to fix their eyes. In the meanwhile, both Genji and McCree would have to deal with it.

McCree isn’t happy, still stormy and morose when Reyes gives them the news. There will be no more new missions for either of them. And that, Genji notices, makes McCree even more furious, though he says nothing else and only retreats to the firing range to burn out his frustration. For lack of anything better to do, Genji trails after him.

In the training room, McCree doesn’t miss a shot, each bullet meeting its intended target with an accuracy so sharp it causes the training bots to question his identification. He flashes his handprint with contempt, slamming his palm over the offered panel, and of course fails the retina scan. From the other side of the room, Genji watches the security personnel file in, McCree with his arms crossed and fuming as they look him over and fix his clearance. Then, they do the same to Genji, re-scanning his eyes to match his identification.

It feels like the last nail in the coffin, the last warning and reminder Genji receives before reality sinks in.

“Don’t know how you do it. Having parts that don’t feel like yourself,” McCree says, though he doesn’t get a reply, because there’s nothing that Genji is willing to say to make them feel better about it.

When security finally leaves them alone, McCree rolls his left wrist at his side. Genji manages to catch it, this small and inconsequential tic, but it’s strange, the way McCree glances down at his own arm with a frown. The oddness of if makes Genji’s own left arm twitch, almost wanting to let the shuriken fall between his fingers.

The situation cannot compare, having only a new set of eyes to having a new entire body, but it’s nearly like having company again.

 

* * *

 

In the following days after the Omnic attack, Genji finds himself staring after McCree. When he can’t stare, his awareness of the other man is a constant presence in the back of his mind. It happens very suddenly, and Genji cannot figure out if he’s finally sick of his self-imposed isolation or if there are other factors that he simply refuses to acknowledge. It doesn’t help that McCree looks back at him from time to time, whether if it’s from across the hallway or during a routine meeting with Commander Reyes and Strike-Commander Morrison.

He can tell McCree is perturbed by it as well, always being within each other’s periphery. McCree has never favored Genji in any particular way, no more than any other agent in Blackwatch. They have worked well together before, but also they have had missions subpar outcomes. They aren’t _ideal_ , maybe the best agents separately, but certainly not the best together.

But today’s training exercise ends up being the best they have ever worked with each other. Everything about the practice is a blur in Genji’s head—the target acquisitions, the minor objectives, no unnecessary casualties, the hit list all checked and marked red. It’s a perfect review from the panel, from both AI scans and training officers alike.

All Genji remembers is being acutely aware of McCree, everything from his positioning to his marked targets, where to provide cover or where to dive forward with an attack. In return, McCree seems to know just what Genji wants to do as well, quickly following up on attacks or keeping out of sight until the last second.

An uneasy feeling swirls in the pit of Genji’s stomach, and he can see the same mirroring in McCree’s expression—though Genji cannot pinpoint just what, exactly, is giving McCree away. He just knows, like it’s a new, undeserved understanding between them.

They exchange glances at the same time, Genji sheathing his sword and McCree holstering his gun. The training room buzzes around them.

“Something’s wrong,” McCree says, so quietly that Genji thinks he might’ve not made a noise if it hadn’t been for his lips moving and Genji looking.

When Commander Reyes meets up with them afterwards, his gaze is assessing.

“I had some concerns at first, with the two of you working together,” he says, not mentioning the Omnic attack that had gotten their eyes switched. “But it looks like you two have actually improved.”

In his chair, McCree doesn’t fidget. He looks as relaxed as ever, casually leaning back to consider Commander Reyes’ words, but Genji senses carefully controlled hope bubbling within McCree.

Again, Genji doesn’t know _how_ he knows— _he just does_ —but what’s odder is that Genji is struggling to contain his relief as well.

“Wouldn’t mind being out in the field again,” McCree says. “I reckon Genji would enjoy some fresh air too.”

Genji scowls, not liking McCree making assumptions on his behalf. He dislikes it even more that McCree is right. To Commander Reyes, he shrugs. “I can have no objections either way.”

It’s a snide comment, though technically correct. Commander Reyes doesn’t rise to the bait, giving Genji an unamused look. He nods.

“Great. I hated having to pull the two of you off in the first place. We’ll resume the operations we had on the table,” he says, drumming his fingers over the table. “Keep your comms open for an updated timeline.”

McCree smiles, and now there’s no mistaking the satisfaction in his eyes, however strange it looks. They flash red, focus shifting, and Genji looks away. McCree is only grateful to be useful again.

“‘Preciated, boss,” McCree says, getting up.

They are being dismissed. Genji rises with McCree.

Commander Reyes almost sounds fond. “Don’t make me regret it.”

For some reason, Genji finds himself answering for the both of them, words of relief falling from his mouth before he can stop himself. “You won’t.”

McCree gives him a funny look, but by then Genji’s already through the door, and he has no choice but to follow after.

 

* * *

 

The next night, Genji dreams of a desert and a bright blue sky, and wakes up blinking, expecting to have the sun in his eyes.

Genji stares up at the ceiling. There are bright flashes in his vision, giving him a headache. They eventually subside after a while, leaving him with lingering images of fire and trains and the sound of gunfire in the dark.

He doesn’t fall back asleep.

 

* * *

 

Out in the field, Genji becomes conscious of his sight, what he can or cannot do. Genji doesn’t react as quick as he used to, but agility is still built into him, even if McCree’s eyes can’t track as fast. His blade is still sharp, and his aim still bites deep. He can work around McCree’s eyes.

But, sometimes, he sees things in the corner of his vision, a little haze of light when there shouldn’t be anything there. He can never make out what he sees, but it’s fiery and red, like looking straight into a sunset.

Genji blinks away the vision. He is in a warehouse with shuttered windows and walls that echo as he taps the point of his sword to the floor. A wet gurgle sounds behind him, and he turns around to see McCree withdrawing a knife from another man’s throat.

“I believe that’s the last of them,” Genji says, surprised by how light he sounds.

“Chatty today, huh?” McCree mutters, wiping the bloody knife over the man’s clothes. He hadn’t used his gun. He glances up.

It’s not like looking at the sunset at all, not like the thing Genji keeps seeing in the corner of his vision—the way McCree’s eyes burn red. Genji has a moment of clarity, of knowing how it feels, when he uses the same angry stare.

“... Not that I’m complaining,” McCree eventually says, almost as if he’s struggling with the words. His wrist turns, fingers flicking away at nothing, and looks over his shoulder, his line of sight shifting to follow something Genji can’t see. “You’re always so damned miserable.”

“I think you would be too, under the same circumstances,” Genji says, laconic, and McCree ducks his head.

But even still, McCree wants his eyes back, and Genji is starting to want the same. He knows sight is everything to a sharpshooter like McCree, even if it means keeping all the little faults like flashes of white and sunsets, and blurred lines and constant shifting. He knows now—why McCree had gotten so scared and furious at Moira.

The taste of ash wells up in the back of Genji’s throat. He recognizes the smell, but McCree has not smoked in days.

There is a hazy fog lingering over McCree’s shoulders. The shape of it is familiar. When Genji blinks, it goes away.

“Something’s wrong,” Genji says, faintly, and he remembers McCree echoing the same statement.

Their comm buzzes; orders to fall back.

McCree stands up.

“I think,” he says, putting away the knife with a tiny spin that isn’t quite his own habit, “It’d be best if we talk after this.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t have time to talk, at least, not privately. McCree debriefs with Commander Reyes along with Genji, and then it’s into the jet carrier to accompany Captain Amari to their next classified location.

Genji wilts towards the sound of her voice, head tipping to rest on the backboard. He can hear snatches of McCree’s conversation with her in the seats across from him, frightfully earnest in a lot of ways, but he supposes that even a ruthless agent like McCree would have formed ties by now. For a moment, Genji feels a brief twinge of jealousy—and then confusion by the unwarranted envy. He has never been close to Captain Amari, hasn’t felt the need to. Never like this.

“Been dreaming ‘bout monsters lately,” McCree is saying to her, when she comments about his weariness. He sits back, rubbing his eyes. “Fucking stupid, right? Just started happening.”

Amari pauses, thoughtful, and Genji can vividly imagine her furrowed brow, the way her tattoo would crinkle under her eye.

“Since when?”

“Couple of night ago,” McCree mutters. “Never had anything like it. I’m not much of a nightmare kind of guy, you know? Insomnia’s more my cup of tea.”

Amari scoffs. “You have terrible taste. Remind me to send you a box of lemon balm. Who knows, it might help.”

McCree’s smile is crooked with skepticism, but his murmur of thanks is genuine. “I’ll be sure to give it a try.”

Genji’s heart pounds.

 

* * *

 

“Your nightmares,” Genji begins, grabbing onto McCree’s arm. “Tell me.”

They are in a safehouse, a withering apartment complex with numerous escape ways and a stockpile of weapons. They are alone.

McCree glances down at Genji’s hand on his arm. He takes a step back. “And you haven’t been sleeping.”

McCree is dodging the question. He looks reluctant to answer, but Genji really wonders about it— _why?_

“You said there were monsters.”

“Nosy,” says McCree, eyes glinting.

It doesn’t scare Genji. It couldn’t. McCree glares with _his_ eyes. He steps forward. “You dream of dragons, blue like the sky. They rip you apart in your nightmares. But you still see them, sometimes, when you’re awake.”

McCree goes still. He catches on. And how could he not? Genji _feels_ his understanding, his fast-dawning horror and frustration just as clearly as if it was Genji’s own.

“These aren’t my nightmares,” he says, bright red gaze flickering. “They’re yours.”

Genji finally laughs, bitter, and lets go of McCree’s arm. Moira, Moira— _what have you done to us?_

“No,” Genji says, recalling visions of blue skies and an orange desert. He laughs again, and it’s with McCree’s grim sense of humor. “But I can see why you would think that. No, not my nightmares. Those were my memories.”

 

* * *

 

Genji had thought, foolishly, that their mutual understanding would make it better—the distortions, the change in habits, the visions. It doesn’t. And Genji wonders if this optimism is truly his, or something trickling into him from McCree.

They finish the rest of mission, so in tune with each other and perfect in every way that even Commander Reyes makes an inquiry, just to make sure.

McCree denies anything, and Genji feels a flutter of fear from him. He knows McCree doesn’t want to be pulled, doesn’t want to be seen as a failure. Genji chokes back the feeling, hating it when all he wants is to feel his own resentment. He owes Gabriel Reyes _nothing_. Not in the same way McCree does.

This is the problem. They can run missions together, be Blackwatch’s two dutiful agents together, but when the fighting dies down, when there’s nothing else to do—it’s just them. Just Genji, in all his apathy and simmering amiosity, and just McCree, with all his tiny fears and warring loyalties.

“We’re fine,” McCree tells Reyes over the video call. “Didn’t you just say? We completed our objective.”

“Tens across the board,” Reyes says, dry. He believes them. “Well done.”

McCree’s gratification at Reyes’ praise glows like a beacon in Genji’s mind. It doesn’t show so much outwardly, but it’s jarring nonetheless. The emotion doesn’t belong to Genji, and he can’t stand it.

McCree turns to him. He must have felt Genji’s irritation, must have known what Genji is about to do next, because McCree takes a step forward to stop him.

There isn’t an understanding between them, forcefully bonded like this. Nothing mutual, or empathetic. It’s all opposing and contradictory thoughts and feelings, and Genji feels like it’s going to tear them both apart in the end.

“Something’s wrong. We aren’t fine,” Genji says, looking at Commander Reyes. “Pull us. Call an extraction.”

He doesn’t make demands, has never been in a position to order anything from either Overwatch or Blackwatch. Reyes stills in the screen.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” McCree says, pushing Genji aside. He struggles with an explanation, but there is very little he can do now that Genji has spoken. “Void that. Let me talk with Genji for a sec.”

He cuts the connection before Reyes can protest, and turns to Genji.

Genji has never seen him so angry. Not with Dr. O’Deorain, not with Commander Reyes. But he knows why now, and the reason for it makes him furious in return. Genji feels it worming within him, the fear of being useless to the very organization that coerced them to join their ranks. What’s worse—his understanding is apparent to McCree, and he knows it’s killing McCree that he does.

“They treat you like fodder and you’re grateful. You don’t even realize how badly you have it, and you’re thankful,” Genji spits, and feels good to finally say it aloud, what grates him so much about McCree.

But it’s a mutual feedback. McCree snaps back, just as quick.

“Stop reading me,” he says, a wisp of smoke coiling out from his mouth before he sucks in a breath. There is no cigarette in his hand, has not been one for hours now. “Why do you keep lying to yourself about not wantin’ to care about anything? Obvious as fuck that you—that you _used_ to—gah, this fuckin’ _thing_ -”

There is green in McCree’s eyes, neon bright in the darkened safehouse.

Genji recognizes it. The flit of a serpent's tail flickering around McCree’s shoulders, the hazy fog he had seen earlier during their mission. The world freezes in place.

“That’s mine,” he says, voice gone cold. “Give it back.”

McCree takes a step away, not listening, and Genji knows all McCree can hear is a roar that drowns everything else out.

“What did Blackwatch offer you? Revenge? A hand in killing off the Shimada Clan?” McCree continues, heedless of the dragon’s gaping maw flickering over his mouth, the smokey outline of sharp elongated teeth lining up with McCree’s own. It disappears as if blown out by an invisible current. “You don’t fuckin’ care. I figured all you wanted was to have something to do. You never knew what you wanted in life even before your family fucked you up, and now that you’ve got second chance, you _still_ don’t know what you want. Why try, if being alive is so god damn _miserable_ -”

McCree snaps his mouth shut, horrified by his own words, which really aren’t his own words, or thoughts, and should not have been anything he would have ever known.

It’s the same way Genji is starting to know McCree’s shifting mood, the brush of intrusive thoughts that don’t belong to Genji, but yet bleeds through to him. The space behind Genji’s eyes start to throb, his right eye especially. Genji brings his hand up to grind his palm into the socket.

The air around McCree is green with flashing scales. It’s getting too bright, and McCree is drowning in it.

“Take this fucking thing out of me,” he hisses, and it’s definitely fear this time, mixed with an unraveling fury that is the combination of both their anger. The dragon flickers above his head now, staring into Genji.

Genji stares back, stomach churning. It’s like looking at himself for the first time, every bitter thought and jagged emotion—and maybe it is, more brutal than any mirror.

_I look like this—?_

McCree draws out his knife, the small blade in his back pocket, and Genji’s heart thuds when the dragon swirls around McCree’s wrist, inviting and reckless.

There is a gun on a table in the far corner of the room, standard issue, run of the mill. Stocked in all the Blackwatch safehouses. Genji should have grabbed his sword, and it’s concerning that he hadn’t. Instead, his instinct screams at him for the pistol. When Genji picks it up, it feels comfortable in his hand, like it’s meant to be. He aims for McCree and that, too, is easy.

The world goes still as if his cybernetics had somehow activated. Genji sees the points where he has to shoot—the spot above McCree’s head, McCree’s right shoulder, his eyes that are blazing green—

The haze of red covers his vision, and it’s nothing like the red he sees from his own eyes. It glows, a fiery sunset overlaying everything.

So Genji pulls the trigger, and knows he won’t miss a single shot.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For more short stories, prompts, or WIPs, check out my writing tumblr @[lyricalt](lyricalt.tumblr.com). Thanks!


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